


Happy For You

by Snortinglaughter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Divorce, Implied Emotional Infidelity, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn, implied PTSD, implied post traumatic stress disorder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-04-05 11:26:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14043252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snortinglaughter/pseuds/Snortinglaughter
Summary: Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter had a secret relationship for months. Two years after it ended—in a rather nasty way—Draco learns Harry is getting married to Ginny Weasley.Draco tries his best to move on and have a family of his own, but it seems that destiny has other plans for him and insists on crossing their paths.





	1. Not Ready.

**December 21st, 2000.**

 

Harry wasn’t ready to come out to the Wizarding World, let alone tell his friends and family he’d been secretly dating a former Death Eater for eight months. Draco hadn’t mind at first, it had all started as a casual fling, a way to let out all their frustrations. But when his feelings turned into something deeper, he felt like an embarrassing secret that Harry preferred to keep locked in a box, hidden in a dirty basement. Draco didn’t want to hide anymore; for Harry, he was willing to face the outrage their relationship might cause.

 

He didn’t mean for things to get so out of control when he confronted Harry about it, but he should’ve known better: there was no easy way for Draco Malfoy to talk to Harry Potter. The discussion quickly escalated and they were suddenly shouting on each other’s faces.

 

“You may be the Saviour of the Wizarding World, but you’re a fucking _coward_ , Harry Potter!” he said with a sneer.

 

Harry blinked and took a step back, bewildered. Their ragged breathing was the only thing that could be heard in the cold of Draco’s bedroom.

 

“Hark who’s talking, _Slytherin_ ,” Harry whispered.

 

Draco’s eyes widened, his jaw clenched. He felt more hurt than he wanted to admit as memories of wrong choices and sixth year flashed through his eyes.

 

Harry gave him one last look, a look full of… anger. And he Disapparated, leaving Draco standing there with the cold of the night piercing through his lungs, feeling like the world was slowly falling apart around him.

 

* * *

 

**June 28th, 2002.**

 

It was a nice Friday morning; the weather was perfect.

 

Pansy would arrive any minute now for their weekly breakfast date. Draco had already set the table and placed plates of scrambled eggs and crispy bacon, perfectly toasted slices of bread, a bowl of varied berries, a pumpkin juice pitcher, and a kettle full of delicious hot tea. He discovered he had sort of a talent for cooking; it was rather soothing. He sat, waiting for Pansy as he picked the _Morning Prophet_ and lifted his steamy cuppa to give it a nice sip.

 

His hand stopped in midair.

 

A moving picture of Harry Potter and the girl Weasley covered most of the front page.

 

_“It’s Official! Harry Potter And Ginny Weasley Will Tie The Knot In Mid-September._

_(Pages 2 to 5).”_

 

They looked happy, smiling for the camera and looking at each other like the world could burst into flames around them and they wouldn’t even notice.

 

It was as if a pair of cold hands had gotten into Draco’s chest and were squeezing, twisting and _clawing_ at his heart. He knew it would eventually happen, but he still wasn’t ready to accept the reality of it. The knuckles of his left hand were stark white as he clutched the newspaper, a contrasting burning-hot sensation was making its way from his sternum up to his throat. He had to close his eyes and will the sudden dizziness away, but the ache in his chest remained.

 

“Are you alright, darling?” Pansy was standing at his right with a curious look on her face. He didn’t even notice her entering the room.

 

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine,” Draco said quickly, blinking the blurriness away while putting the paper face down on the table, and rearranged his features. He took a sip of his tea and smiled. “How have you been, Pans? Any new gossip?”

 

“Oh, darling. _Where_ to start,” she said excitedly as she took her seat and reached for the berries. There was no better way to distract her than asking for the latest scandal. “I went shopping the other day and you won’t _believe_ who I bumped into–”

 

Draco’s mind drifted. He could still hear Pansy’s voice, but it sounded like she was ten feet away. His brain filled with memories of heated kisses, promises of ‘forever,’ bright green eyes, and silky black hair.

 

“–left Knockturn Alley with significantly fuller lips, rumor has it something went wrong because her mouth burst with the most _hideous_ blisters you can imagine. Not even the best Healers at St. Mungo’s have been able to get rid–”

 

“Potter’s wedding is in September,” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

 

Pansy dropped her fork, it clattered noisily against her plate. She looked at him, gaping and wide-eyed. Her gaze fell over the paper beside Draco’s plate and she wordlessly Summoned it, gasping at the sight of the front page.

 

“Oh, Draco.” She left the Prophet aside and grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze. Her brows creased with worry and sympathy. “You knew this day would come, darling, you’ve known for months. I–you might think it’s easy for me to say, but you’ve got to move on. He clearly has.”

 

“I don’t know if I can. I try, but... Pansy, I–I _can’t_ forget.” His eyes burned. He let out a shaky breath, trying to steel himself. He would not break, not again.

 

“It’s not about forgetting, Draco dear, it’s about acceptance.” She caressed his knuckles with her thumb. “It’s impossible to forget all your history together, and I’m positive he, too, will always remember. You have to cherish the good moments and learn from the bad ones. I know things had a rather nasty ending, but you need to find a way to get a proper closure.”

 

When Harry… no, _Potter—_ he could never be ‘Harry’ for him. When Potter left, they never spoke again. Draco’s mind was full of questions: were Potter’s sweet whispers just to humor him? Was it all a lie? What happened when he got home that night? Did he smash the objects he found nearest, like Draco had? Or did he just sit in his living room, watching his preposterous _'telly’_ contraption?

 

There were so many words left unspoken, many feelings kept hidden and so, so many apologies; Draco didn’t sleep thinking about it. He spent countless nights writing letters for Potter that were never sent, letters that ended up burning to ashes in the fireplace.

 

Draco cloistered himself in his flat for three months. He managed to go outside when, after an owl from his mother, Pansy burst into Draco’s bedroom at dawn. Not only did she _literally_ hexed his bollocks off, but also threatened to make him wear them as a _mustache_ if he didn’t get out of bed.

 

It worked.

 

Months later, after _Th_ _e_ _Prophet_ announced the Potter-Weasley engagement, Draco wondered if Potter was really happy, if he didn’t ache for Draco as Draco ached for him, if he’d found in Ginevra what Draco had failed to give him.

 

“Please, darling, don’t let this rot you down.” Pansy had been watching Draco as he lost himself in his thoughts. “I won’t hesitate to carry on with the mustache idea.” She gave him a quivering smile as tears ran down her cheeks.

 

Draco bit his lip. He was unable to stop his own tears, hot against his cold skin.

 

He had felt a sharp stab of pain when he saw the front page that was now laying beside Pansy’s glass of pumpkin juice. He asked himself if it was genuine, the way Potter looked at his girlfriend like there was nothing more beautiful in this world; he needed to know, to see for himself.

 

Pansy was right. He needed closure, and Draco thought he knew how to get it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to Rachel (@/restlessandordinary on Tumblr) for beta'ing and cheering me on ♡


	2. Closure.

**September 14th, 2002.**

 

“I’m not sure this is the right thing to do, Draco.” Pansy was walking from one end of the living room to the other, biting her left index nail nervously while Draco sat on the edge of the couch.

 

“I need to, Pansy; I don’t know if I’ll be able to live with myself if I don’t.”

 

When the war ended, Draco had thought Pansy would be the first one to leave the country after that scene in the Great Hall. Goyle moved to Norway, presumably to finish his school education in Durmstrang, and decided to stay there. Blaise left for France with his mother. Theo stayed but, just as Goyle and Zabini had, he made sure everybody knew he had nothing to do with a Malfoy anymore; they hadn’t talked for years now. Pansy was the only one who stayed by his side.

 

“I know, darling, but does it really have to be done like this? What if someone sees you? Surely you can just owl him some other day.”

 

“Don’t you trust me?”

 

She kneeled in front of him, taking his hands in hers. “Of course I do, Draco dear. But I… It’s been so long since the last time you saw him and–”

 

“We’ve talked about this,” Draco interrupted. “I just… I need to know. I won’t do anything stupid, Pans. I promise.”

 

“Have I ever told you how much of a stubborn prat you are?” She sighed, giving him a long look of worry. Draco held her gaze, his eyes never once showing a flicker of doubt. Pansy sighed again, and she got to her feet. “Alright. I’ll be here when you come back, and if you don’t…” She gave him a meaningful, almost menacing look. “I’ll go and get you _myself_.”

 

“I know you will.” He trusted her to.

 

Draco stood up, taking a deep breath to steel himself, and cast a _Tempus_. 7:35 p.m.

 

He gave Pansy one last, reassuring look, and closed his eyes, concentrating with all his might on the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole. He felt his chest tightening more than it usually did when he Apparated; probably due to his nerves.

 

A summery breeze caressed his face, the air was fresh and it smelled of grass and soil. Draco had been living in his flat in the city for over two years, he’d almost forgotten how nature smelled. He opened his eyes. He was standing on a meadow near the Burrow, the building could be seen from a short distance, and the wind carried the sounds of music and laughter. He decided he was too close, so he walked to a small hill near him, in search of a good view.

 

“Draco sodding Malfoy stalking Harry bloody Potter on his wedding day, like a spiteful, psychopathic ex-girlfriend,” Draco muttered bitterly. His eleven-year-old self would hex him to oblivion.

 

When he reached a good spot, he Disillusioned himself in case someone passed by. It wasn’t probable, but he imagined what it would look like in someone else’s eyes: a former Death Eater spying on The Boy Who Lived.

 

Nope, better not take the risk.

 

He took the _Omnioculars_ he’d pocketed earlier, and pointed his wand to un-shrink them.

 

_“Engorgio.”_

 

His father had bought the device for him during the Quidditch World Cup back in ’94; Draco hadn’t paid much attention to the match with Potter sitting in front of him. He remembered being somewhere between annoyed and amused when Potter stood and, hypnotized by white-gold hair and dancing Veela hips, had almost jumped into the field. Draco understood, months later, why he hadn’t been enraptured by the semi-humans’ charms.

 

He sat on the ground, facing the garden of the Burrow, his right hand touched the soft grass at his side, and he closed his eyes. His heart was beating so fast, so hard he thought it might break a few ribs. There were so many emotions invading his brain and chest: fear, excitement, anger, sadness…

 

 _Breathe. You can do this. Breathe,_ he thought to himself as he put the _Omnioculars_ on, and opened his eyes.

 

There were a couple dozens of crystal spheres floating in mid-air in the garden, each had a glinting light in it. Men, women, and children were taking their seats at tables with rectangular wooden boxes topped with lilac-coloured roses as centerpieces. A couple walked to the dance floor, and Draco’s heart seemed to stop for a moment.

 

Potter.

 

He was wearing a linen waistcoat with a white shirt and a mauve tie, his sleeves were rolled up, his hair was unruly as ever... he was beautiful.

 

Draco couldn’t breathe.

 

He took off the _Omnioculars_ and gasped for air. He covered his face with his hands, but was unable to stop the burning tears, invaded by a feeling of despair. Something cold settled in the pit of his stomach. He tried swallowing, but his throat felt like sandpaper.

 

“Breathe, just breathe,” he reminded himself.

 

Draco inhaled and exhaled loudly, he needed one last look. He managed to put the device back on with shaky hands.

 

The couple had started their first dance. Draco didn’t even look at Ginevra, he only had eyes for Potter. He tried to ignore the way his belly stirred at the sight of Potter’s skin glowing under the soft lights, and paid close attention to the way he moved, to his gestures while he held the women he had decided to spend the rest of his life with. Draco couldn’t look directly at his bright green eyes, but his smile seemed sincere. Potter cupped Ginevra’s face with his hands, and gave her a sweet kiss on the lips.

 

That was it for Draco. He slowly took the device off, reduced it with his wand, and tucked it in his pocket.

 

Three months ago, when he had decided to come to the Burrow, he’d wanted to see if there was a sliver of uneasiness in Potter’s face, a hint of insecurity, of unsteadiness, of _something_ that showed that Potter maybe—just _maybe—_ still had Draco in his mind. It didn’t seem to be the case. Draco knew, then, that Potter was happy.

 

He understood the meaning in Pansy’s words a few months ago, about cherishing the good moments, about learning, about _acceptance_. It hurt, it really did, but Draco was at peace knowing that Ginevra would give him the family Potter had always wanted, knowing that he would be loved and taken care of.

 

In a moment of inspiration, Draco conjured a piece of parchment with a short note written, he carefully folded and charmed it. As the paper crane flew towards its destiny, Draco Disillusioned himself, and Apparated back home.

 

Pansy was waiting for him on the couch where he’d been sitting earlier. Draco sat beside her, and after a moment, he laid his head on her lap. Pansy silently, gently stroked his hair; she always did when she knew he was going through a rough spot.

 

Draco’s eyes were no longer shedding tears, but his heart… He put a hand over his chest, trying to feel his own heartbeat. Was it still there? Probably, but Potter had taken a part of it with him. Draco didn’t think he would ever feel the same way for anyone, and it truly didn’t matter to him anymore, though, that he couldn’t get his happily ever after. Nobody would take away the moments they had together, Potter had been _his_ , and nobody would ever take that from Draco. What mattered was that Potter was happy, that was all Draco wanted.

 

That was the closure Draco needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rachel is an awesome beta and a precious human being who keeps on delivering ♡


	3. Nineteen Years.

**September 1st, 2017.**

 

“Dad, you think Grampa would like a rubber ducky drawing?” Lily asked.

 

“I think he’ll love it, pumpkin,” Harry responded as they entered their home. “Don’t forget to draw a few plugs and batteries as well.”

 

She grinned brightly. Harry walked down the hall as Ginny conjured some parchment and crayons for Lily.

 

His smile faded as soon as he was out of sight. He quickly entered his studio, and immediately Summoned a green leather book with silver embroidery, tucked in the upper left corner of his bookcase. He took down the protective wards, and opened it on page sixty five.

 

There it was.

 

~*~

 

_Harry and Ginny reached their seats at the Head Table after their first dance as a married couple._

 

_Shock struck him, he couldn’t believe his eyes: a paper crane was posed on his seat, flapping its little wings._

 

_He took it, making sure Ginny didn’t notice, and looked around, searching._

 

_“Something wrong, love?” Ginny asked from her seat, lightly touching his forearm._

 

_“‘Course not, sweetheart. Erm, just need a quick restroom break, be back in a mo'.” He gave her an attempt of a smile, and kissed her cheek._

 

_He walked to the house instead of the loo installed outside, looking around as he went. There was a small hill to his right, not very far, but it was too dark to tell if someone was there._

 

_Harry entered the Weasleys’ restroom and locked the door. He was breathing as if he had ran a marathon, his heart thumped rapidly in his chest. He swallowed hard, and slowly opened the note with shaky hands._

 

_‘As long as you’re happy, I’m happy for you.’_

 

~*~

 

Harry stood in his studio, staring at the note he’d kept hidden for fifteen years. He traced the sleek handwriting with his fingers, and remembered the burning sensation in his throat. Remembered how he went back to his seat beside his wife and took her hand, pretending he wasn’t thinking of pale skin and grey eyes.

 

He’d seen Malfoy with his wife and son at Platform 9¾ today. When their gazes met, Malfoy’s smile faltered, he gave Harry a curt nod and turned to his son again. Harry couldn’t manage to get his eyes off him, until James shouted something having to do with Teddy.

 

What was wrong with him? Harry had a comfortable life, a wife who loved him, three wonderful children for whom he would do anything, and he’d been Head Auror for over ten years now. He had everything he’d ever wanted.

 

Or at least… he thought he did.

 

* * *

 

**August, 2019.**

 

“Dad, can Albus spend the rest of the summer hols with us?”

 

Draco almost choked on his tea, and he cleared his throat. He’d been calmly looking into the ingredient list the chef of his restaurant had sent him.

 

“With _us?_ ”

 

“Yes, we can take him to King’s Cross Station as well,” Scorpius suggested. “You see, his Mum is in Romania with James and Lily, visiting his Uncle Charlie. Al stayed with his Dad, but Mr. Potter’s a tad busy at work. I thought maybe we could invite him over.”

 

“I understand, Scorpius,” Draco said, carefully placing his teacup on its saucer. “But I don’t think his father will agree.”

 

The papers had spread rumors about the downfall of the Potter-Weasley marriage. Having Albus stay with them, leaving his father alone, might give the wrong idea to the public.

 

“You could owl him, ask him for permission? I mean, I know you’re not in the best of terms after all that school rivalry rubbish but, pssh, we’re all grown-ups here, right?”

 

“Are we now?” Draco laughed. He was glad his son was nothing like the snarky arse Draco had been at his age.

 

“Aw c'mon, Dad, you know what I mean. _Please?_ ”

 

“Very well, then.” Draco sighed, he would probably regret this later. “I’ll owl Mr. Potter once I’m finished here. But you have to promise to behave, Scorpius.”

 

“Alright, _wicked!_ Thanks, Dad, we will. Promise,” he said smiling, and took off to his bedroom.

 

Draco sighed again. What did he just got himself into? This promised to be more awkward than the time Pansy snogged him in fifth year.

 

* * *

 

“Not here yet?” Scorpius asked as he entered the living room.

 

“It’s five o'clock, any minute now,” Draco responded as he poured himself a glass of firewhiskey to sooth his jittering.

 

It had taken him some time to write the bloody request letter. It surprised him when Potter’s response arrived rather quickly the same day, and since that moment, Draco couldn’t stay still. He spent the night wondering what the blazes would happen once they arrived.

 

He took a deep breath as the Floo roared behind him. He turned around to see Albus spinning out of the fireplace, followed in short by his father.

 

“Evening, Mr. Malfoy. Thanks for having me,” Albus said, smiling radiantly, and brushing off soot from his shoulders.

 

“A pleasure, Albus.” Draco smiled.

 

“Phew! _Finally,_ Al. I thought you decided not to come after all,” Scorpius said, giving Albus a half-hug. “Evening, Mr. Potter.”

 

“Good evening, Scorpius,” Potter greeted, and gave Draco an awkward smile. “Albus, you’re a guest in this house so, for the love of Merlin, _behave_. Also, remember to owl your mother and –”

 

“And eat my veggies, and brush my teeth. Got it, Dad.” Albus winked.

 

After the Potters said their mutual goodbyes, Scorpius and Albus went upstairs. Draco found himself uncomfortably alone with the man that had invaded his thoughts for years, listening to their sons’ fading sounds of laughter. He had to admit how good Potter looked in those dark muggle jeans he was wearing, the pictures in the newspapers didn’t do him justice.

 

“So… er. He’s a good kid, Scorpius. Albus talks about him all the time,” Potter said, balancing back and forth on his feet.

 

The last time Draco had seen Potter this tense, he was dancing with Patil in the middle of the Great Hall.

 

“Ah, yes. Scorpius talks a lot about Albus, too.”

 

He tried to pretend he wasn’t thinking about the nights they had spent together, the sweet smiles and passionate kisses. He wondered if those same images were crossing Potter’s mind as well, and his heart started racing. Draco turned to refill his glass to hide the blush crawling up his neck, and he could swear he felt Potter staring at him; it made the hairs of his arms stand.

 

“Er, nice house you have here. What happened to the Manor?” Potter asked.

 

“Well I… sold it, once Mother passed away, to some wealthy muggles. No wizard in his right mind would want to buy it.”

 

Draco gave his firewhiskey a long sip. It had been nineteen years since the last time they spoke. Now, Potter had entered the house less than ten minutes ago, and he was already asking uncomfortable questions.

 

“Oh, erm. Sorry. For you mother, not the Manor, that is.”

 

“Thank you, I… guess,” Draco said as he turned back.

 

Potter scratched the back of his neck. “Listen Malfoy I, er… I just wanted to say–” Draco held his gaze, but Potter hesitated and finally sighed. “Wanted to say that Albus’ school trunk is reduced in his backpack. If you need something–anything, owl me.”

 

“Right.” How… disappointing. Draco smiled sadly. “Will do, Potter.”

 

They exchanged a few letters regarding Potter’s son’s well being. Once the boys went off to Hogwarts, they stopped.

 

* * *

 

**October, 2019.**

 

Draco woke up to the sound of an annoyingly insistent owl outside his window. He opened it and reached for the letter, and the stupid, barmy chicken bit him and flew away.

 

“Yeah, you better escape, you fucking _wimp!_ ” He shut the window and opened the letter.

 

 

~~_Dear D_ ~~

 

~~_Draco_ ~~

 

_Malfoy:_

 

_~~I’ve been thin~~   Fancy joining me for a cup of tea next weekend? ~~I would like to~~_

 

_If so, please send your owl with the most convenient hour for you. I’m currently at the Ministry, so I had to borrow this one. Careful, it bites._

 

~~_Harr_ ~~

 

_HP._

 

 

Draco snorted as he sucked at his bleeding finger, wincing at the copper taste of blood, but unable to ignore the hot feeling blooming in his chest.

 

Why, in the name of Salazar’s gonads, would Potter want to have tea with him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, Rach? There's hope at the end! *smirks* ily ♡


	4. Nightmares And Bad Friends.

It was a bad day.

 

Draco woke up in cold sweat, his legs trembled as he slid out of bed, stumbling against the nightstand in his haste to reach the restroom; he barely made it to the toilet. He devolved the contents of his stomach that his throat had tried so hard to keep down. The dreadful feeling had tears spilling down his cheeks and a drop lingered on the tip of his nose.

 

He flushed the toilet, and his gaze fell over the mark on his forearm. The sight was nauseating. He looked away, breathing hard, and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will away the images of his nightmare: red eyes, blood, fire…

 

His unexpected nightmares still shook him to the core. A look in the mirror told him as much: drops of sweat slowly fell from his hairline to his temples, his skin drained of all color, his hands clammy with sweat. But Draco was stronger now, he could face this; years of Mind Healing therapy had taught him how to.

 

He took a vial of Calming Draught from the cabinet and gulped it down, wincing at the syrupy taste, and rubbed a hand on his face. His thoughts landed on his son and Draco concentrated on them. Scorpius was his anchor.

 

He went back to his bed and sat, watching the nightstand he’d inadvertently knocked on the floor. Its contents were scattered, and among them was the letter Potter had sent him. Draco picked it up, and chewed on his lips for a few seconds before making his decision.

 

It wasn’t meant to be.

 

He walked to the small study next to his room, crumpling the note in his hand, and threw it in the trash bin next to his desk.

 

 

_Potter_

 

_~~I’m sorr~~   I won’t be able to  ~~be with~~   attend our meeting today. I am feeling unwell. Sincere apologies._

 

_Draco Malfoy._

 

 

His writing was shaky, but it would have to do. Once he woke his owl and sent it off, he headed back to his room, and sat on the edge of the bed.

 

The Calming Draught was already working. His breathing eased and his hands stopped shaking. With a quick charm, he righted the nightstand and its contents back to place. He thought of Potter’s letter, and Draco felt guilty for cancelling with such short notice, but he’d taken his nightmare as a bad omen. He had been looking forward to their meeting, curious as to what had motivated Potter to send the invitation. It would have to wait for another occasion, _if_ there was another occasion.

 

_“Accio letter.”_

 

The crumpled parchment came zooming through the door, and Draco caught it. He smoothed it down on his thigh, and re-read it for what must’ve been the hundredth time. After a long, heavy exhale, he tucked it under his pillow, and walked to the bathroom.

 

He stripped, entered the shower and opened the tap, letting the steam rise enough that he could barely see.

 

He dipped his head under the hot stream of water and let it fall on the nape of his neck. Every pore in his ice-cold skin seemed to scream; his temperature always dropped after an episode. Draco scrubbed until his chest, arms, and legs were pink, washing away the sweat along with every unwanted feeling. He lost track of time, when he left the shower his fingertips were wrinkled... his hands looked so much like his mother’s that way.

 

Just as he fetched his wand and Summoned a towel, the Floo chimed downstairs and he nearly smacked his forehead. He’d forgotten Pansy had insisted in coming over to help him choose the ‘right outfit’ for tea with Potter. Draco quickly wrapped the towel around his waist and went out the bedroom, mentally reprimanding himself for not owling her earlier as he climbed down the stairs, and reached the living room.

 

He flicked his wand at the fireplace to let Pansy in, and turned to head back to his bedroom.

 

“Be right back with you, Pans.”

 

“Malfoy.”

 

It was as if Draco’d been hit by a _Petrificus Totalus_. The sound of Potter’s smooth voice made the nape of his neck prickle. Draco’s back muscles tensed as he realized he was very much naked except for the towel that hung low on his hips, drops of water still dribbling down his skin. He slowly turned around, feeling more aware of his extremities than he’d ever had before.

 

Despite of the invading feeling of vulnerability, Draco squared his shoulders and cleared his throat, summoning his dignity.

 

“What are you doing here, Potter?”

 

It didn’t go unnoticed by Draco, the piece of parchment clutched in Potter's hand, but also the way his eyes flickered down Draco's body. Though it was only for a fraction of a second, he swore he could feel the blazing heat of the intense green irises over him, still did even after Potter looked down to his own gray slippers.

 

 _Breathe_.

 

“I–” Potter raked a hand through his hair, decidedly not meeting Draco’s gaze, and raised the hand in which he was clutching the parchment. “I received your letter and I was worr–I just wanted to check if you were okay because I… remembered.”

 

Draco’s composure wavered. Faraway memories of Potter comforting him after a nightmare came to his mind. He squared his shoulders, yet again _. 'I don’t know what you’re talking about,'_ and ' _that doesn’t give you the right,'_ were some of the things Draco thought of saying, but none of them left his mouth.

 

“You always tried to shut everyone out after…” Potter murmured, and their gazes finally met. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

 

 _Breathe_.

 

“I…” Draco didn’t know what to say to that.

 

It came to him at once: the time Potter left, the sleepless nights, the secrets. They were at the tip of his tongue, all the things he had kept for himself, and that he had only confided to his Mind Healer. She had advised him to let them out in some way, that was how he had ended writing those letters he had never sent. But now, the look in Potter’s eyes, like he wanted Draco to give him a reason to stay…

 

He couldn’t. Potter was a married man, no matter the assumptions published by _The Prophet_ —true or false.

 

“I guess I’ll be going, then,” Draco heard Potter say, and forced himself out of his reverie.

 

He had already turned his back to Draco, and taken his little Floo powder bag from his pocket. Draco’s hands clenched into fists at his side, and he bit his tongue in an effort to not ask him to stay. He would keep quiet, let him leave, he would walk up to his room and pretend his heart didn’t ache.

 

The flames suddenly ignited emerald green and a figure swirled out of the fireplace, crashing against Potter, and then onto the floor.

 

_“Umph!”_

 

“What the _fuck–_ ” Pansy froze, realizing that it was Potter whom she had landed on, their noses inches away from each other. “Oh. Potter.”

 

“Parkinson,” Potter saluted, rather awkwardly.

 

Pansy looked up, her eyebrows disappearing under her fringe upon noticing Draco’s naked form.

 

"Draco, you’re–” Her bewildered expression morphed into a wicked look and a teasing smirk. She didn’t seem to be even slightly bothered by the fact that she was still lying on the floor with Potter under her. “Am I interrupting something?”

 

“Potter was actually on his way out.”

 

“I was leaving.”

 

They both stated at the same time.

 

Pansy looked down at Potter and hummed. She straightened back, and was apparently rejoicing on the look of shock on Potter’s face as she was—there was no other way to put it— _straddling_ him. Draco narrowed his eyes as she gave Potter one last smirk, and took an obscene amount of time to rise to her feet.

 

“Leaving so soon? I thought you had a… _meeting,_ ” she said, stepping aside, watching Potter as he stood up and taking in his pajama clad figure.

 

“I am not feeling well.” Draco gave her a meaningful look, which he was sure she immediately understood.

 

“Oh. Well, that’s unfortunate,” Pansy murmured. She crossed her arms and tapped her jaw with her index finger, giving Draco an up and down look. Her eyes stopped at his crotch. “Although you do look quite alright, _very_ healthy indeed. Wouldn’t you agree, Potter?”

 

Potter stared at her, his jaw clenched; probably imagining a sweet, slow death for her. Pansy merely raised an eyebrow, and urged him to answer.

 

“Well?”

 

Potter slowly turned to Draco, and looked straight into his eyes. Draco didn’t know what it was—he was in his own house, for fuck’s sake, he could just walk away and send them both to hell—but those green eyes bore into his. They kept Draco glued to the spot. It was ridiculous, if he thoroughly thought about it, how he could manage to overcome his horrifying nightmares but couldn’t stop his heart thumping faster under Potter’s gaze.

 

“You–” Potter looked like he was trying, with all his might, to stop his eyes from wandering down Draco’s body. “You look… yes, very healthy.”

 

“Very well!” Pansy clapped her hands together, grinning like a maniac—it was a rather frightening sight. “Now, Potter, don’t you realize Draco is half-naked? Please be gone. You can owl him tomorrow, don’t worry. Chop-chop!”

 

That seemed to snap Potter back to reality. He clumsily, shakily took a pinch of Floo powder from the little bag he’d been clutching since Pansy and him had collided, and threw it in the fireplace. The green flames arose, and Potter turned back to Draco.

 

“I–” He looked at Pansy, as if not wanting to say much due to her presence. “I _will_ owl you.”

 

After a moment of consideration, Draco nodded, and Potter smiled weakly.

 

“Grimmauld,” he said, and then disappeared between the flames.

 

Draco frowned as he recognized the address; he had thought the Potter-Weasleys were living in Salisbury, not in London.

 

“You’re welcome,” Pansy articulated. A smirk on her lips and her hands on her hips. She looked so proud of herself Draco couldn’t help but roll his eyes, and stalk away from her.

 

"For what, exactly?” he inquired, as he walked to the stairs. “For nearly humping him on my living room floor? Or for being a pain in the arse?”

 

He turned back around just in time to see Pansy’s jaw drop, and let out a yelp. She clutched her chest, offended.

 

“Don’t give me that fucking look. If I have to thank you for something is for making that little scene an utter _disaster_.”

 

“Well, I think it went fantastic, if you ask me,” she said, giggling. “Did you see how he struggled to not look straight at the line of your cock against that flimsy towel of yours?”

 

“My towels are _not_ flimsy.” Draco could feel his neck and cheeks growing hot. He would definitely look in the mirror and see if his cock could really be distinguished. “You’re a malicious hag, and a horrible friend.”

 

“Yes, yes.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Now, why don’t you go change into something comfy while I go get some scones? We’ll have some tea, and you’ll tell me why you ditched him today. I won’t leave you here to sulk.”

 

She dusted off cinder from her blue cardigan, and headed to the door.

 

“Pansy?" he called, halfway up the stairs.

 

“Yes, Draco?”

 

"I love you.”

 

Her smirk softened into a fond smile.

 

“I love you too, darling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay. I promise that the angst will lighten up soon... eventually... sometime xD
> 
> Again, Rachel was my beta and I love her ♡


	5. Indecision.

**November, 2019.**

 

_Malfoy,_

 

_I'm very sorry you were feeling indisposed, and I'm sorry about my actions. I guess I should've just owled you instead of bursting into your home like that. I just… wanted to make sure you were alright._

 

_Hope you have the chance to chat soon, if you haven't changed your mind, of course. I'm visiting my children at Hogwarts this weekend. Perhaps the weekend after? Or any day you'd like, really. Let me know._

 

_Oh, and say hi to Parkinson for me._

 

_HP._

 

 

Draco had received the letter the day after the catastrophic, unplanned meeting with Potter. It had been resting on his nightstand for a week and he didn't know how to respond to it. There were so many things in that letter that made Draco’s insides all funky: Potter was worried about him, Potter still wanted to have a talk with him, he was visiting his children at Hogwarts... That seemed somewhat odd to Draco, parents weren't allowed to visit the students and if Potter was, did it mean he didn't get the chance to see them as often during the holidays? And how dare he, after Pansy got to feel him up...

 

Draco huffed at the memory, and continued selecting the right clothing for his meeting. He needed to be in his office in forty minutes to interview a young woman who was applying for the hostess post at his restaurant.

 

It had been a busy week. His restaurant had made it into the top 100 list—in a very respectable position—of the best in both Wizarding and Muggle London. Ambitious Slytherin that he was, London wasn't enough, so Draco was thinking of opening another restaurant up in Cambridge, meaning his days had been spent in meetings with his solicitor. He definitely didn't have time to ponder about trivialities like his feelings or Potter’s private life, and it wasn't like he cared. Really, he didn't.

 

After a quick shower, Draco stood in front of the mirror. His hair was slicked back and he'd chosen a steel gray three piece suit, white shirt, a navy blue tie, and shiny black loafers. Wizard robes were a tradition, but he had found Muggle clothes to be very comfortable and stylish indeed.

 

He checked the time on his wristwatch—the last thing his father had ever gifted him while still sane—and realized he had ten minutes to spare. He looked at the letter beside his bed, and bit his lip as he remembered the way Potter’s eyes ran down his body the last time they'd seen each other. He could write a quick note, setting the time and place... Draco pushed away the images of the tea shops in Muggle London that his mind had provided him against his will. As much as he tried to, he couldn't fool himself; he _did_ want to meet with Potter— _very_ much so—but still wasn't sure if it was a good idea.

 

He put his navy blue coat over his shoulders, feeling the fur on the lapel caressing his jaw and neck, and Apparated to the alley across the street from his restaurant in Wandsworth.

 

The soft rays of the sun hit the ivory oval sign that hovered at the entrance. _Les Cheveux de Licorne_ , engraved in glinting gold, lavish handwriting… such a beautiful sight. Draco smiled proudly as a warmth spread through his chest. He had worked so hard, not only to achieve the restaurant’s success, but to be accepted.

 

Despite the threatening Howlers he had received during the first couple of months after opening his restaurant, Draco didn't give up, and through the years he slowly earned the trust of the Wizarding Community. Now, the outcome of his efforts was standing tall and proud before him.

 

Draco crossed the street and entered the building through the back door as his head chef was arriving.

 

“Good afternoon, Mr Malfoy,” the man greeted with a big smile.

 

"Good afternoon, Jeffrey.” Draco gave way for Jeffrey and followed after him. “How was last night’s service?”

 

“Oh, it was a quiet one, Mr Malfoy: only about 6 four tops, 20 deuces and 4 or 5 VIP’s,” he answered as he took off his jacket and left it on one of the coat racks. “T’was Wednesday, though, it shall get more interesting today.”

 

Draco had studied and spent enough time among chefs and expert gastronomists to know exactly what all that slang meant.

 

“How did the new cook do?” he inquired. He had hired the girl just a couple of days before. He was the owner, but who better than the head chef to evaluate the cook’s work.

 

“Abercrombie?” Jeffrey put his hands on his waist and huffed, shaking his head. “I'll be totally honest with you, I put her on sauté and she's absolutely green. I fired her a 4 by 4 by 3 with five more on order and by the time we got to plate she was short _two_ fucking orders. I’m moving her to dishwashing today if that's alright with you, Mr Malfoy.”

 

Draco nodded, considering his options. Abercrombie’s resume was quite impressive, but Draco knew that Jeffrey was very intimidating, and he could scare the shite out of the most skilled cook.

 

"Do what you must, Jeff. I say leave her in dishwashing the rest of the weekend—it's going to be a busy one, better not take the risk—and give her another chance on Monday.”

 

"Right you are, sir.” Jeffrey walked down the aisle, stretching his arms and making his joints crack, readying himself for work.

 

Draco climbed the stairs to his office in the second floor, checking his wristwatch as he opened the door and entered the softly illuminated room. A tall cage stood in the corner near the window, occupied by a sleeping tawny owl Draco had for sending businesslike messages. His interviewee should be there in five, enough time to take another quick look at her resume. He sat on his plush chair and Summoned the folder with the woman’s information.

 

He could barely hear the sounds of movement and the clanking of pots and pans in the kitchen downstairs. The restaurant opened its doors at five o’clock, so it was relatively calm. There was a gentle knock on the door just as he finished reading, and Draco checked the time. Four o’clock sharp, that spoke volumes to him.

 

"Enter.”

 

The first thing he noticed about the young woman was her smile, it irradiated warmth and kindness. Her golden-brown hair was long and wavy, it framed her heart shaped face and highlighted her intense blue eyes.

 

“Good afternoon, Mr Malfoy. My name is Lucine Berry, I'm here for the hostess post,” she stated. She sounded very determined and confident of herself, Draco took an instant liking to her.

 

“Indeed, you are, Miss Berry. Please, take a seat.” He gestured to the chair in front of him, and watched her, examining her every move. She walked with poise and handled herself very well, an excellent quality in a hostess.

 

“I see you have experience in the post,” Draco commented as she sat. “St John in Farringdon and Medlar in Chelsea. Quite impressive, I must say.”

 

"Thank you, sir.” She smiled brightly and crossed her legs. Draco appreciated her discreet clothing, unlike the girl he had interviewed the past week. Her cleavage had been utterly insane and Draco had been afraid something might pop out.

 

“Tell me a little a more about yourself, Miss Berry.” Draco said.

 

He listened to her talk about the duties she performed in her previous jobs—she seemed to be skilled at handling irate and even drunken customers. After a few minutes, Draco had made a decision.

 

"Very well, Miss Berry. I have no doubt that you will be an excellent addition to _Les Cheveux de Licorne’_ s staff. One last thing, though. I’ve noticed you did not state why you left Medlar,” Draco continued. “I understand you must have personal reasons for this, but I like to have a bond of trust with my employees. I will not pressure you, so if you ever feel open to discuss these matters to improve your work experience, please let me know.”

 

Miss Berry’s eyebrows shot up, seemingly surprised by this, but quickly rearranged her expression and smiled again.

 

"Thank you, Mr Malfoy, so very much. I–” She looked down to her hands. It was the first time during the entirety of the interview that she showed a flicker of doubt.

 

"Whatever it is, Miss Berry, we can work it out. As I said, I will not pressure you, but the door to my office is always open.”

 

She let out a breath of relief and smiled. “Thank you again, Mr Malfoy. I will, and I promise I won't let you down.”

 

Draco stood and walked to open the door for her. “With that out of the way, do you have any inconvenience to start working as of tomorrow?”

 

“Absolutely not, sir,” she answered as she followed him.

 

“Perfect. I shall see you at three o’clock to give you a tour and introduce you to the rest of the staff members.”

 

He opened the door, and Miss Berry started to say something, but her words were drowned by a voice that bellowed from downstairs: “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS? THIS FISH IS DRIER THAN MY GRANDMUM AND SHE'S BEEN DEAD FOR TWELVE _FUCKING_ YEARS, YOU _DONKEY!_ ”

 

“Ah, that's our head chef: Jeffrey. Charming man, you'll love him,” Draco assured.

 

"I'm sure we'll get along.”

 

“Thank you for coming, Miss Berry, and welcome to _Les Cheveux de Licorne_.” Draco shook her hand and gave her a curt nod.

 

“Thank you, and please, call me Lucine.” With one last smile, she exited the office and Draco closed the door after.

 

He walked back to his desk and Summoned a bottle of firewhiskey and a tumbler from his cabinet. He sat there, sipping his drink, randomly thinking about his projects, about his new employees. He didn't know how it happened, but he suddenly found himself thinking about Potter. Potter and his letter. Potter and the way he looked at him, the way his eyes had felt like fire over Draco’s skin even when they were standing feet apart.

 

He rubbed his eyes and leaned back on his seat, looking at the ceiling. Draco was so fucking lost, he knew this. In a sudden outburst of grittiness, Draco wrote a note, woke his owl and quickly sent it off as more muffled shouting from Jeffrey were heard from downstairs.

 

He watched the bird’s silhouette against the setting sun as it flew away, and he bit his lip, hoping his note would be well received.

 

Little did he know that a few miles away Harry Potter was pacing from one side of his office to the other, wondering what had he done wrong, wondering why he hadn't had a response from Draco Malfoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... have nothing to say for myself. I know I said the angst would be over soon, but I never said _how_ soon *smirk*
> 
> I love you, Rach!! ♡♡♡


	6. Intentions.

_Potter,_

 

~~_I apologize for not answering earlier. I've had a very busy week and I_~~

 

_Potter, I have no idea what you're up to, but let's stop with the pretences, this situation has been haunting me for days. At first I thought you wanted to talk about our sons, now I don't even know what to think. You can drop the ‘subtle’ act because you and I both know you're shit at it, so pray tell what your intentions are. If you still want to talk, I'm at my restaurant in Bellevue Rd, Wandsworth. I'll be here until 8._

 

_DM._

 

 

Harry was re-reading the note for the third time when the tawny owl that had delivered it hooted, reminding him of its presence. Harry searched through his mess of a desk until he found a blank piece of parchment, and scribbled he'd be there at six o’clock.

 

After the owl left, Harry sat behind his desk and stared at nothing in particular, trying to get his thoughts in order. What _were_ his intentions?

 

When he had proposed to Ginny, he had thought that it was what he wanted: Get married, buy a house in a somewhat posh neighborhood, have children… it was safe, it was what everyone expected, it was normal. Everything was good in the beginning, but through the years something changed in his marriage.

 

The intimate friendship and complicity was there, but it was the passion—and eventually the commitment—that had slowly started fading. Harry and Ginny’s love for their children had motivated them to seek professional help, but for some reason none of the three marital counseling therapists they had attended had helped to overcome the increasing distance between them. He thought even the children noticed how Ginny and Harry’s relationship had plummeted towards an abyss of cool indifference.

 

Then one night—right before their trip to Romania—Ginny hinted that maybe they should start sleeping in separate rooms after the kids went back to Hogwarts. Harry couldn’t take it anymore; he finally accepted that they were all living in a lie. They had been so busy trying to keep their children, their family and their friends happy with the idea of their perfect marriage, that they didn't stop to think about their own happiness.

 

That same night Harry and Ginny sat in their bed and, after almost seventeen years together, they finally voiced what had become painfully obvious: they weren't happy together, they weren’t meant to grow old together. Silent tears haf fallen down their cheeks as they hugged, nostalgia clutching at their throats.

 

They fell asleep like that, with Harry holding Ginny and rubbing her back, her head on his chest and her arms wrapped around his torso. It was comforting, but it felt like goodbye.

 

Harry sat behind his desk, waiting for six o’clock, and wondered what had gone wrong, when it had gone wrong; as if on cue, silver eyes flashed through his mind. Maybe it had all started after seeing Malfoy in King’s Cross three years ago, or... before?

 

Who the fuck was Harry trying to fool, of course it had been way before. He still had the note Malfoy had sent him in his wedding night, for Merlin’s sake and, to be completely honest, Harry had never stopped thinking about the moments they had shared together, about that one last night…

 

Harry took his glasses off and all but buried the heels of his hands in his eyes. What a fucking arsehole he had been, with both Malfoy _and_ Ginny. Harry had tried to convince himself that it was all because of the pressure of what was expected from him by the Wizarding World, that he wanted his sexual orientation to remain secret. At the end he had come to terms that he was simply young and stupid, and too afraid to admit his feelings. Ironic, wasn't it? That it was easier to walk into the depths of a dark forest to face his death, but he flinched when it had come to admitting he was in love. In love, truly, with the man that had occupied his thoughts—for better or worse—ever since the age of eleven.

 

Brave Gryffindor, Harry was. He scoffed and ran his hands through his hair, frustrated as he eyed Malfoy’s letter.

 

_'Pray tell what your intentions are.'_

 

Harry would be lying if he said he wanted them to establish a… sort of friendship? Polite acquaintanceship? He only needed to remember what he'd felt when he walked into Malfoy’s house nearly a fortnight ago. The sight of him… it had taken Harry all of his willpower not to reach out and just _touch him_ and be touched in return the way Harry had yearned, had _craved_ to for so many years.

 

Yes, it had started as only an affair, but it had turned into so, so much more. Malfoy had touched Harry, not only in a sexual way, but in mind and soul… and Harry ruined it. He ruined it for fear of what others might have said or thought. But despite that, it seemed as if Malfoy had made sure Harry wouldn't forget, as if he had left a soft, everlasting part of himself in Harry that crept in his dreams and caught him unaware in the most unexpected moments. Maybe that was Harry’s punishment; always carrying that presence with him, and that nothing and no one could ever erase, not even his wife.

 

The forms of the petition to dissolve their marriage were filled in once Ginny returned from the trip to Romania, but they hadn't sent it to the Department for Magical Bonds and Integral Family Development yet; they wanted to talk to the children first. Harry had only told Ron and Hermione and they had promised to keep quiet, but still _The Prophet_ was already publishing rumours about their impending divorce, meaning Harry and Ginny were obviously not being as smooth as they thought. That's why they decided to tell James, Albus and Lily after Christmas.

 

It was going to be difficult, they were going to feel hurt—maybe even resentful—but Harry and Ginny knew that finally telling the truth would be liberating for all of them.

 

The truth. There was still so much truth he needed to tell Ginny… to tell Malfoy. Harry didn't know where to start.

 

The loud chatter outside his office was dying away at the passing minutes. He could have left earlier, but the prospect of finding himself surrounded by overexcited trainees that felt the need to compliment him as much as possible—after a particularly exhausting day—was very unappealing. He wished nothing more than to Apparate away straight from his office. He was seriously considering breaking through the Ministry wards when there was a brisk knock on the door, and it opened to reveal a cautious Ron Weasley.

 

“Alright there, Harry?”

 

“Alright, Ron.” Harry smiled, trying to seem relaxed.

 

“Listen, tonight’s roast beef at The Burrow and I think mum's gonna bake something. Care to join?”

 

“I, er… I actually have somewhere else to be in ten minutes,” Harry answered, standing up from his chair. “I'll see if I can manage to meet up with you lot on Saturday, though.”

 

“Right.” Harry knew Ron wasn't buying it, for he seemed doubtful for a moment and then drew in a short breath, as if to steel himself. “Harry, I know you and Gin aren't telling Mum and Dad about the divorce until you talk with the children, but you don't have to avoid us, mate. You know you are and will always be welcome to visit, right? You know that you'll always be our family.”

 

A pang of guilt burned through Harry’s chest. He had put off going to The Burrow, thinking the memories and nostalgia would be too much to bear. It wasn't fair, and now Harry had never felt more undeserving of the amazing friend that Ron was and of the family that the Weasleys had become.

 

“I know that, mate. I'm sorry,” he said through a sigh and rubbed his forehead. “I really do have to go somewhere right now, but I promise to stop by this weekend.”

 

Ron smiled and nodded and, after warning him about George testing his new prank prototype on unaware victims, left in a rather cheerful mood; Harry couldn't relate. Despite the anxiety creeping up his spine, he walked out, locked his door and hurried to the nearest Apparition point from the Ministry.

 

He focused on his destination and a second later he was standing in an alley, the building in which Draco Malfoy was waiting for him a few meters away. With a deep breath, Harry walked forward and crossed the street.


	7. The Meeting

Draco stood by the window of his office, looking out at the darkening sky. He had tried to stay seated behind his desk and read the memo his solicitor had sent, but he couldn’t manage.

 

Potter was on his way, he would arrive any minute. Draco had been so confident in wanting to know Potter’s thoughts, but now that the moment had come, he didn't know if he wanted to anymore.

 

He was conscious of his feelings, the ones he had buried deep down, but not knowing what would happen, what to expect once Potter arrived was what frightened Draco the most about the whole situation.

 

~*~

 

_“You may think you can fool the world, Draco, but you can't fool yourself,” Astoria said._

 

_She was lying in bed, in one of her few lucid moments, getting weaker by the minute. No matter how many potions she drank, how many Muggle medication she took, the results of the diagnose spells the Healers performed on her always came out worse. Draco held her hand, tracing her knuckles with his thumb._

 

_“What do you mean?”_

 

_“You still love him, whoever he was.”_

 

_“Astoria…”_

 

_She slowly shook her head. “I’ve never held it against you. I've always known."_

 

_Draco tasted the bitterness of guilt in the back of his tongue. Even though he did everything in his power to make Astoria happy, he knew it hadn't been enough, he knew she deserved better than just the crumbs of his platonic love._

 

_She looked up to the ceiling, and Draco could see her slipping away towards her delirious state. Her pupils dilated and tears formed in the corners of her eyes. “Scorpius. I wish… my baby…”_

 

_It broke his heart to watch Astoria like this. Her spirit was strong as ever, but her mind and body withered with every passing day, and Draco didn't know what else to do to help her._

 

_“Please come back, Astoria.” He held her hand tighter, his own tears threatening to spill. “They will find a cure and you will be here with us. What am I going to do if you're not?”_

 

_She looked at him, her smile sad and weak, her eyes lacking their old sparkling glint._

 

_“Live, Draco,” she whispered. “Live… and love.”_

 

_~*~_

 

A knock on the door interrupted Draco’s thoughts. It was time. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, forcing himself to keep calm.

 

“Enter.”

 

In came Potter, looking somewhat unsure for a second before jutting his chin up. “We need to talk.”

 

That was the Potter he knew, no subtleties, straight to the point. Draco walked to his desk and sat on his chair.

 

“Would you like to take a seat?” he offered in a businesslike tone, and gestured to the chair in front of him. Potter didn't hesitate. Draco leaned back, trying for a relaxed posture although he felt his insides tying in knots. “How can I help you, Potter?”

 

He noticed Potter’s tight grip on the armrests, his brows creasing in concentration. Perhaps he didn’t know how to start or what to say, perhaps he was regretting coming here. Just when the silence was getting on Draco’s nerves, Potter finally spoke.

 

“I'm sorry. I…” He huffed and lightly shook his head. “I’m years late for this, but this has been eating me up for so long and I–I know I was an utter fucking arsehole, and I'm sorry.”

 

Draco felt like he'd just been slapped. Of course, Potter just wanted to relief his sense of guilt, that was all. Draco raised the many walls he'd learnt to build around himself, and managed to give him an impassive look and a raised eyebrow.

 

“That’s fine, Potter,” he said, his voice cold. “I stopped caring a long time ago.”

 

Unlike him, Potter had never been good at hiding his emotions. The hurt could be seen very clearly in his eyes, in the way his jaw clenched and his shoulders tensed. Draco had the feeling Potter would suddenly Disapparate and would never hear from him again, just like it had happened years ago. To his surprise, seconds ticked by and Potter was still there, and didn't look like he intended to leave any time soon.

 

“Well,” Potter sighed and looked straight into his eyes. “I never stopped caring.”

 

Draco furrowed his brows, unwilling to believe what Potter had meant to say. “Excuse me?”

 

“When I Apparated home that night, my magic was out of control and I nearly destroyed Grimmauld Place,” Potter said, edging closer to the desk. “I wanted to go back, wanted to apologize for what I’d said and set things right… but I was afraid.”

 

“You–” Draco closed his eyes for a brief moment, trying not to shout. Potter took advantage of his silence and continued.

 

“Everyone had an advice for the _sodding_ boy who lived, everyone had something to say,” he murmured. “And I thought I wanted what they expected from me: a simple, normal life and for once – _once,_ Malfoy, I took the easy way out. I thought I could forget about you, but I was wrong… and I paid dearly for that.”

 

Tears started to burn in Draco’s eyes and he blinked them away, setting his gaze on the silver quill holder on his desk. It felt like a thick mist was clouding his mind and he didn't know what to say, how to react.

 

“I lied to myself for so long. I really thought I loved Ginny, but as much as I tried to rip you out of my heart, I would dream about you every now and then, and when I woke up I could almost smell your sweet scent, Draco.”

 

The sound of his given name on Potter’s lips after everything they had been through, after years of pondering on ‘what if’s’... it snapped something inside Draco and he looked into Potter’s eyes.

 

“Who the _fuck_ do you think you are?” he said in barely more than a whisper. “It’s been nineteen years. Nineteen _fucking_ years, Potter, and _now_ you decide to apologize?”

 

Potter opened his mouth to say something, but Draco interrupted him. He couldn't keep quiet anymore, he wouldn't.

 

“Do you have _any_ idea how much time I spent thinking what would've happened if I had gone looking for you.” His voice trembled with the effort to restrain himself, his hands fisted at his sides. “You got in my bed and fucked me senseless, you whispered sweet _bullshit_ in my ear, and then you were gone and made me feel like I was some dirty fucking _secret!_ And now turns out you never forgot about me?”

 

“Draco–”

 

“ _You_ left,” Draco barked, losing his temper at last. “It was _your_ decision to leave and _your_ decision to never come back. You moved on and, _by Merlin_ , so did I.”

 

“Draco, please, I–”

 

“What do you _want_ from me?”

 

He almost regretted asking, he didn’t think he could stand the answer, whatever it may be. Potter worried his lip and looked around the office, as if he would find the right words somewhere between the window to his left, the bookshelf behind Draco or the couch at his right.

 

“You,” he finally whispered.

 

Draco huffed and stood up, nearly knocking his chair on the floor, and walked to the window, his back to Potter. He didn’t know if it was because of Potter’s presence, but the more he tried to control his emotions, the more difficult it became. _Breathe, breathe,_ he kept reminding himself.

 

“You’ve always been a part of me,” Potter said. “But after I saw you at King’s Cross… I couldn't get you off my mind for weeks, couldn't blink without seeing the image of you in my arms.”

 

Draco felt it again, the monster that clawed at his chest, doing its best to ravage his heart to shreds, and he did _his_ best to reign it in. He wished Potter would just stop. He wasn’t sure what hurt more, to hear those words after so long, or to realize they had both been going through the same all this time… This was mad, it made no sense and he tried to get his thoughts in order to inject some reason into this nonsense.

 

Potter was getting nearer, Draco could feel him, the magic and heat radiating from his body. It sent a shiver down his spine.

 

“Too late, Potter.”

 

He heard Potter's short intake of breath, but a second later a wave of magic washed over him. It was so warm, so pure and it felt… it felt like home.

 

"I know I deserve hell for what I did, for never coming back,” Potter admitted. “I can say millions of things to try and convince you to forgive me, to take me back."

 

“You have a wife.” Draco turned around to find him just a step away. It had been so long since the last time he’d seen those vivid green eyes up close. He was suddenly torn between shoving Potter away or reaching out to pull him closer.

 

"I don’t,” he responded. And those two words were enough to unleash the beast inside Draco’s chest, it pressed the air out of his lungs, but at the same time spread warmth through his body. “I know words are not enough, so please, let my actions talk. If you’re willing to give me a chance, I'll do _anything_ to mend what I did, to prove myself to you. But if you want me to leave, just say so... and I'll never bother you again."

 

Draco’s hands were shaking. _Madness, impossible,_ were the only words that his brain supplied, but he couldn’t deny that a small glint of hope rose in the middle of the darkness that had lingered between them for years. His eyes were drawn to Potter’s and, as if pulled by an invisible force, Draco drew close.

 

There were more lines in the corners of Potter’s eyes, but the tiny freckles on his cheeks and nose were just as Draco remembered.

 

Their fingers brushed against one another, a single whisper lingered between them.

 

_“Harry…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, I promise the angst is going to lighten up from now on. These beans have gone through so much, they deserve to be happy.
> 
> Sorry for the lil cliffy there, but I promise I'll make next chapter worth it. Thank you so much for sticking with me in this journey.
> 
> My beta, Rachel, kinda wanted to kill me after this lol so let's all please send her some love ♡♡


	8. Wonky Things

“Well that's bullshit if you ask me,” Pansy said, shrugging before nibbling at her scone.

 

She had Floo’d to Draco's place barely fifteen minutes after he'd owled her, telling her about his meeting with Harry the day before.

 

“You think he's lying?”

 

“I can't tell if he actually is, you know him way better than I do, but Draco… _twenty_ fucking years.”

 

“Nineteen,” he corrected.

 

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes and waved a dismissive hand. “I think you should give serious thought to all of this, darling. I know I teased you both only because I loved torturing Potter with the sight of your nearly naked form, but haven’t you considered that you might just be infatuated with one another? Do you really still love him?”

 

Her words felt like a punch to the gut. Draco couldn't deny that Harry had sowed a seed of hope in his heart, but he also couldn't deny that Pansy might be right. Time hadn't helped him overcome his feelings for Harry, but what if it had been so long that their rift could never be mended?

 

“Draco,” she quietly called, watching him intently. “I just want you to be happy, but I also want you to keep your head on your shoulders. To have a realistic point of view.”

 

Draco knew she was right, it was the smart thing to do; stay clear-headed, don't let feelings take the best of him. But, truth be told, Harry had always managed to steer every sane thought out of Draco's mind.

 

“I do agree with Potter on that bit about proving himself to you, though,” Pansy continued. She took a noisy sip from her frappuccino and proceeded to nonchalantly ask, “So what happened after his confession, then? Did he suck your cock?”

 

The question had Draco snorting and rolling his eyes. “Why is it always about cocks with you? You don't even like them.”

 

She merely smirked and shrugged. “They're fascinating.”

 

“No, he didn't,” he said, ignoring her statement.

 

“Right.” Pansy nodded with disbelief, but didn't push the matter. “So when’s Scorpius coming home?”

 

“In two weeks,” Draco gratefully followed the change of subject.

 

He didn't want to go into details about how the meeting with Harry had ended, even if nothing risque had happened. The way their lips had touched ever so slightly, the feeling of their fingers entwined… it was something Draco wanted to keep for himself.

 

The day went by rather quickly—always did when Pansy visited. After sharing a light dinner and _more_ cock-related comments, his best friend left and he found himself alone in his house again. While Draco did miss his son dearly, he enjoyed his solitude the following days and immersed himself in his job.

 

The prospect of Scorpius’ arrival, choosing the perfect Christmas tree, and planning Christmas Eve’s dinner with Pansy had kept Draco’s thoughts about Harry at bay. The tactic only worked for so long, until he started receiving occasional notes from Harry—notes that were certainly not declarations of undying love, but weren't words of distant, awkward politeness either. Draco had struggled to find the appropriate response to the first note, in which Harry asked about his well-being, but as their correspondence continued the words flowed more easily, more naturally… and, despite his best efforts, the warm bloom of ‘expectation’ spread further in his chest.

 

December 21st brought Scorpius home, but it also brought a streak of absence of Harry’s letters. Though no promises had been made, Draco tried to keep his traitorous mind from overthinking the situation—if Harry and Ginevra’s separation was true, then it was only logical he would want to spend as much time as possible with his children. Still, a small but cruel little voice in the back of his head tried its best to fill him with doubts. He fought to quiet it down, fought to concentrate on the ‘now’ and not on the ‘what could be’. He managed to keep his calm composure during the day but, alas, one does not have control over the mind during sleep.

 

~*~

 

_They were in bed, laid on their sides and facing one another. Harry’s fingers were tracing the lines of Draco's lips._

 

_“I can't get enough of you,” Harry whispered. The look in his eyes was so full of affection it made Draco feel like he could fly._

 

_He took Harry's hand and kissed his fingertips one by one, then placed it over his cheek. “Not tired of me yet?”_

 

_Harry inched closer, hooking a leg over Draco’s and making their foreheads touch._

 

_“Never, Draco.”_

 

_~*~_

 

Draco slowly opened his eyes and traced the ghost of Harry's touch, he swore he could almost feel the warm hand on his jaw.

 

Flecks of snow were falling lazily, piling on the corners of his window. Draco fetched his wand from his nightstand to cast a Warming charm on the duvet, and let out a sigh as he snuggled against his pillow. He tried to fall asleep again, but the images he had just woken up from seemed to have imprinted themselves in the back of his eyelids, clear as if they had happened yesterday. He wasn’t complaining, that mix of memories and fantasies that presented themselves as dreams were much better, by far, than his horrifying nightmares. He could drink a Dreamless Sleep Draught to avoid the wave of nostalgia and the raging hard-ons in the morning… but Draco Malfoy could never pass up the opportunity to torture himself, apparently.

 

He tossed and turned in bed, until he finally faced the ceiling and groaned in frustration. It wasn't fair, this whole fucking mess wasn't fair for any of them. Not for Harry, not for Ginevra and certainly not for their children… their children. Draco kicked the covers off and went to the restroom to splash water on his face.

 

How could he have been so selfish? All this time he had been so worried about a hypothetical relationship that he wasn't even sure would happen, and he never stopped to think about talking to Scorpius about his sexuality.

 

“Idiot,” he murmured, looking at his reflection in the mirror. “Fucking _idiot._ ”

 

So many years spent hiding, running away from his feelings just like Harry said he had… it seems they weren't so different, after all.

 

After putting his slippers and robe on, Draco exited his bedroom and walked past Scorpius’ room. The muffled sounds of a window being opened indicated that he was already awake.

 

Draco squared his shoulders and headed downstairs and to the kitchen. The time had come to talk to Scorpius - he had to, even if nothing came of this _thing_ with Harry in the end. He wasn't sure how he would bring up the conversation or when to do so, but having made the decision already felt reassuring.

 

He set to making breakfast, and by the time Scorpius walked into the kitchen—his hair still tousled and his pajamas rumpled—Draco had already put two plates of fry up on the table.

 

“Good morning,” he greeted, filling their glasses with pumpkin juice as they both took their seats.

 

“Morning, Dad.” Scorpius smiled at him, extending a napkin on his lap and looking slightly nervous. “Aunt Pansy won't come for breakfast?”

 

“I'm afraid not, you know she's a right nutter when it comes to Christmas shopping,” said Draco chuckling.

 

“Right. Okay.” He took a quick breath as if to steel himself. “Dad?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Were you and Mum really in love when you got married?”

 

Draco froze, his toast halfway to his mouth. Right after his inner monologue just minutes ago, Scorpius comes and nearly knocks him off his feet with his straightforwardness. What were the odds? If he didn't know better, he would think his son was a gifted Legilimens. He slowly put down his toast, brushed the crumbs off his fingers and turned to Scorpius, the look on his face a combination of sheer curiosity and interest.

 

“Where is all this coming from?”

 

“I got a letter from Al, just now. Told me about some wonky things that have been going on between his parents. He’s not surprised or anything, but it got me thinking, you know?” Scorpius shrugged, oblivious to the effect his words caused on his father.

 

Draco willed himself to not think about those ‘wonky things,’ and tried to choose the right words among the hundreds that came to mind to answer Scorpius’ question. He thought neither of them were ready to go into details that were not actually necessary—the boy was still thirteen years old, after all—but Draco felt he owed him his sincerity.

 

“Even though we both went to Hogwarts, I never exchanged a word with your Mother until years later. She absolutely abhorred me, to say the least,” he said with a fond smile. “I don’t blame her, I was still a bit if an arse back then. But we became friends and later on, we decided to get married.” He looked right into Scorpius’ eyes. “I loved your Mother. Maybe in a way that you might not understand, but I loved her nonetheless. There are things I need to tell you, things you need to know. But right now, know that we both loved you from the moment we knew you would come into this world.”

 

Scorpius nodded, and if he wasn't completely satisfied with Draco's answer, he gave no sign of it. A soft smile, a shy shrug and an “I love you too, Dad,” where enough to loosen the knot in Draco chest.

 

They ate the rest of their breakfast, chatting about this and that, and while he still felt the weight of his impending confession to his son on his shoulders, Draco thought that maybe everything would turn out alright in the end.

 

Pansy spent Christmas Eve with them, which meant dinner consisted not only of stuffed turkey, ham, mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce, but also of embarrassing stories about their time at Hogwarts.

 

“–and _then,_ listen to this, Scorpius–”

 

“Pansy, I beg you.”

 

“–your Father, the ever poncey Slytherin, had to run all the way to the Quidditch pitch wearing only his tie and knee-high socks–”

 

“Please, stop.”

 

“–and singing to Celestina’s _Beat Back Those Bludgers, Boys, and Chuck That Quaffle Here.”_

 

“Why the bloody hell did I even invite you here?”

 

“And _that_ is why you don't play Truth or Dare after mixing vodka with firewhisky, Scorpius darling.”

 

“Oh my god, Dad, that's pure _gold!_ ” Scorpius gasped for air and had tears in his eyes from laughing too hard.

 

Draco took revenge by telling the story of Pansy crushing on Madam Hooch in Eighth Year, and accidentally sending her a love letter that had meant to stay in her diary. Draco received a splatter of mashed potatoes on the face thanks to that.

 

After convincing Pansy to stay in the guest room for the night—which didn’t take much effort after one too many glasses of wine—they went to bed around midnight. On the morning of the 25th, Draco woke up to an owl tapping on his window. He didn't need to look twice to recognize it was Harry’s, and his heart skipped a beat.

 

 

_Draco:_

 

_Happy Christmas! I’m sorry I haven’t written. Things have been a bit tense over here, but not terrible. Hope you’re enjoying the festivities. I'll deliver your gift personally once we both have time._

 

_I have you in my mind, always._

 

_H._

 

 

Unbelievable how one small note from Harry could have such an enormous effect on Draco. There were no whispering doubts in his mind, only a fluttery feeling that had the corners of his lips pulling up into a smile.

 

Five minutes later, feeling considerably cheery for someone who hadn't slept much, he walked into the living room where Scorpius and Pansy were already waiting for him, and who barely waited for Draco to take a seat before they started ripping their gifts open.

 

Scorpius got a set of gobstones from Albus Potter, a potions kit from Aunt Daphne, and nearly weeped when he unwrapped a Firebolt Deluxe from Draco.

 

Way too many stylish clothes for both Scorpius and Draco where the result of Pansy’s shopping spree, many of which Draco thought were a tad too casual for him.

 

“You're thirty-nine not seventy, for fuck’s sake, darling,” she scolded him.

 

They welcomed the New Year in their garden, wrapped in thick scarves and strong Warming Charms, and watched the fireworks in the night sky.

 

The next days slipped away faster than Draco would've liked. Scorpius would return to school on January 5th, so they made the most of his remaining days at home. They made a trip to an open field, well away from muggles, to have a little race and try out Scorpius’ new broom while Pansy watched and cheered from a safe distance on the ground.

 

It wasn't until Scorpius left on the Hogwarts Express that Draco allowed himself to think about Harry. He wasn’t in King’s Cross to send his children off, only Ginevra, and Draco was almost sure he had caught her staring at him at least once.

 

When he Apparated back home, Harry’s owl was already waiting for him at his window, carrying what seemed to be a copy of _The Prophet_ ; it piqued Draco’s curiosity. He immediately took it and unfolded it, the headline occupying the whole front page.

 

_‘Potter-Weasleys announce divorce._ _Harry reveals his most deepest secret in an exclusive interview!_

_(Pages 2 to 6).’_

 

Draco’s heart jumped up to his throat so fast he almost choked. His vision went blurry from the tears that formed in his eyes, and he almost missed Harry’s green-inked handwriting at the bottom of the page.

 

_Let my actions speak. H._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? I promised y'all things would get lighter! I hope this chapter makes up for all the stuff I put Draco through, pls don't hate me lol.
> 
> A special thank you to Sophia (@/unicornsandphoenix on Tumblr) who gave this chapter a look and helped me with some things that felt a little off. I hope you enjoyed this one, wrote it just for you, babe ;*
> 
> And as always, to Rachel for putting up with my angsty ass, cheering me on and for her beta skills ♡


	9. An Interview, a Summons and a Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scorpius' return to Hogwarts after Christmas hols was supposed to go as smooth as always, but Harry's interview for the Prophet brought an overwhelming amount of confessions, and not just from Harry.
> 
> Draco never imagined his Monday would be such a roller coaster of emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been quite a while since the last time I updated this story. This has been the longest chapter I've written for it, and I hope it makes up for my absence. Thank you for being so patient ♡

**_Interviewer:_ ** _Harry, I have to ask. Is coming out as bisexual the reason for your divorce?_

 

 **_Harry Potter:_ ** _I’d be lying if I said it has nothing to do with it, but it's not the main reason, no. Sometimes people don't work together. For some it may take months to find that out, for others it can take years. I treasure my time with Ginny and the family we made, but we both realised we were fooling ourselves into believing that our feelings for each other hadn't changed._

 

 **_I:_ ** _So Ginny agrees with the separation? Are you doing so in friendly terms?_

 

 **_HP:_ ** _She does, and yes, we are. It's never easy, of course, but we agree that it's the best for both ours and our children’s emotional health._

 

 **_I:_ ** _How are they coping with the situation? It must be difficult for them._

 

 **_HP:_ ** _We thought it was going to be bad, but they actually weren't surprised, which only confirmed that we are doing the right thing._

 

 **_I:_ ** _Did you tell them about your sexual preferences?_

 

 **_HP:_ ** _I did, and it wasn’t easy._

 

 **_I:_ ** _How so, Harry?_

 

 **_HP:_ ** _Because of the fact that they are my children and they have a certain image of me. There were things they didn't know, and to say those things aloud was… a struggle._

 

 **_I:_ ** _You must've felt like you got a heavy weight off your shoulders._

 

 **_HP:_ ** _Absolutely. I know it won't be easy to handle once all of this comes to light, but I want to make things right, and accepting who I am is the first step._

 

 **_I:_ ** _You mentioned there were things your children hadn't known. Can you share with us?_

 

 **_HP:_ ** _I grew up in a very unhealthy household. I was never allowed to ask questions, never allowed to be curious, and homophobic beliefs were parroted during breakfast and tea time. I was taught—or more like forced to believe—that anything different from men and women being together was wrong, and that everyone I knew thought the same. Dumbledore once told me that I was an unusual child because, despite the environment I lived in for ten years, I was nothing like my Aunt and Uncle. I was relieved to hear that, but the truth is some things get stuck in your mind, and you don’t actually realise it. That’s what happened to me, my Aunt and Uncle’s beliefs stuck with me for years. Then, in Hogwarts, around Fifth and Sixth year…_

 

 **_I:_ ** _Are you alright?_

 

 **_HP:_ ** _Yes. Yes, I'm sorry. Anyway, there was a point in my life where I knew I felt attracted to men, but I didn't want to accept it. I feared I was becoming, in my Uncle’s words, what the whole world hated. Even after the war there were things that people still expected from me, and I just wanted to stop worrying for once. I buried my sexuality deep down, and I hurt people I love by doing so._

  
  


Draco couldn't read more, not now. It was real, it was happening.

 

“ _Accio_ firewhiskey.”

 

The bottle came zooming into the kitchen and into his hand. He took a glass, poured two fingers of amber liquid in it and drank it in one gulp. His name hadn't been mentioned in what little he read, but he was affected, nevertheless, by how earnest Harry's words were.

 

Draco helped himself with more firewhiskey before pacing from one side of the kitchen to the other, eyeing the front page of the newspaper. It felt like hundreds of angry bees were buzzing around his head, each of them carrying a different thought and screaming them into his ears; did Harry tell Ginevra about him? Did he tell his children? Does Scorpius know? What happens now? Should he write to Harry? What should he say?

 

It all became overwhelming. Hours later, Draco was in the living room, slumped on the sofa, a bit plastered, and staring at the _Prophet_ laid on his thighs. He let his thumb run across Harry’s green inked words; ‘ _l_ _et my actions speak.’_

 

They spoke loads. Being so open and sincere in the article demonstrated that Harry wasn't afraid anymore, that he would stop hiding. Draco felt proud of him. Whatever the outcome of their relationship may be, he would still always be proud of him. Draco wanted to see him now more than ever, wanted to show Harry he was there for him. With that thought in mind, and with firewhiskey making his eyelids grow heavy, Draco drifted off to sleep.

  
  


_Harry:_

 

_Thank you for not hiding. Now it's my turn to stop hiding as well._

 

_D._

  
  


Draco wrote the short note and sent it off while at work the next day. He had woken up with a bit of a hangover, but nothing a potion couldn't solve. After going through all of the paperwork his solicitor had sent during the weekend, he took a break for lunch, and decided to write a letter for Scorpius. It was time to have a heart to heart with his son, time to let him know what Draco had been keeping to himself all these years.

 

He spent some minutes thinking of the proper words he should write, but just as he made up his mind, took a piece of parchment and dipped his quill in ink, a _‘tap, tap’_ on the window caught his attention. A screech owl hovered outside. _‘Harry’s’_ was the first thing that came to mind, but when Draco retrieved the letter from its leg, he saw the Hogwarts crest on the wax seal.

  
  


_Mr Draco Malfoy:_

 

_You are summoned to a meeting at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to attend matters regarding Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy’s discipline._

 

_Witnesses have confirmed he performed a ‘Redactum Skullus’ on two Fifth year students after breakfast, (Madam Pomfrey hasn't been able to grow their heads back to normal.) Scorpius has not expressed what the reason was for his behaviour and does not show regret for his actions._

 

_As you well know, this is a violation of our school rules, so we urge you to present yourself at 3:00 p.m. today at the Headmistress’ office._

 

_Password is ‘skiving snackboxes’._

 

_Sincerely,_

 

_Professor Xavia Leon._

 

_Arithmancy Teacher and Head of Slytherin House._

  
  


Barely a day back to school after the holidays and Scorpius was hexing classmates? This was not common behaviour in him, there had to be a good reason for it.

 

With furrowed brows, Draco quickly left the restaurant and made three _Apparition_ jumps before he arrived to Hogsmeade.

 

It had snowed recently there. White fluff adorned the sides of the road along with the roofs of the various establishments he had once been an avid visitor of. He walked past them, not bothering to see any familiar faces, for his only concern was his son. He needed to know what had caused this unusual outburst in him.

 

He finally arrived at the gates of Hogwarts; it was still early _—_ about half an hour before the appointment _—_ but he wanted to see Scorpius before speaking to McGonagall and Leon. The castle looked almost exactly as he remembered it. The grounds were lightly covered with snow, the faraway surface of the lake was surely frozen, and a thread of white smoke came out of the chimney of distant hut. A mix of emotions stung Draco like a wasp on the chest, and the happy memories of his first years were obscured with passages of his last ones in this place. Forcefully pushing those thoughts away, he took his wand out and tapped the gates. The winged boar on top of the pillar to his right came to life, and looked down to him.

 

“I am Draco Malfoy, Scorpius Malfoy’s father. I'm here for a meeting with the Headmistress,” he stated.

 

The boar immediately took flight, its rock wings crunching as they flapped. Despite the warming charm he'd cast upon himself, Draco could still see vapour coming out of his mouth as he exhaled, still felt the tip of his nose going cold. He had been too busy taking a pair of leather gloves from his pocket, putting them on, and wondering where he could find Scorpius, to notice the large figure approaching from the distance.

 

“Malfoy!”

 

Draco looked up to see Hagrid walking toward him. He was wearing probably the same moleskin overcoat as ever, and Fang—who Draco remembered to be intimidating but had turned out to be a bit of a wimp _—_ was now a lethargic fur ball, tiredly dragging its feet beside Hagrid.

 

“Good day, Hagrid,” Draco said, feeling rather awkward as a memory of being carried to the castle with a barely bleeding arm came to the front of his mind.

 

“G’day, g’day,” Hagrid greeted, fumbling a bit with the ring of keys before opening the gates, and if it hadn't been for his wild, bushy beard, Draco could have sworn he was smiling at him. “Come on in now. S’freezin’ out here.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“I'll walk yeh ter the castle, got caught with some Firecrabs an’ missed lunch.”

 

They headed to the entrance. The only sounds around them were Hagrid’s whistled melody, Fang's huffed breaths and distant chatter.

 

“Professor McGonagall said ter ‘spect yeh around three. Got here a bit early, eh?” Hagrid commented, breaking the silence between them.

 

“Yes, indeed. I needed a word with my son first. Then we’ll go to McGonagall’s office together.”

 

“Yeah, I heard wha’ happened.” Hagrid nodded. “But lemme tell yeh, Malfoy, yeh musta done summat righ’.”

 

“Excuse me?” Draco turned to look at him, confusion knitting his brows together. “Hagrid, he shrunk two students’ heads, and apparently, he doesn't regret it in the slightest. I never–”

 

 _‘I never wanted him to be a bully like I used to be,’_ he thought to himself.

 

“Don’ fret, Malfoy,” Hagrid said, waving a dismissive, massively large hand and missing Draco’s head by an inch. “Scorpius is a good lad. There’s already some rumours abou’ the whole thing.”

 

“What rumours?” Draco asked as they reached the front doors.

 

“They say he hexed those rascals ‘cause they were makin’ fun o’ Albus, yeh know, Harry Potter’s son,” he said in a hushed tone.

 

Draco stopped as if he'd hit an invisible wall, barely registering Hagrid’s next words.

 

“Serves ‘em righ’, no one should make fun o’ no one’s parents,” he kept saying, oblivious to Draco’s abrupt halt. “If wha’ they say’s true, I prob’ly woulda done the same thing meself… Er, don’ tell McGonagall I said tha’.”

 

Hagrid looked around as he reached the entrance to the Great Hall, and finally realised Draco had stayed behind.

 

“Malfoy?”

 

If Albus Potter was being bullied because of his father's sexuality, what would become of Scorpius when they found out Draco, ex-Death Eater extraordinaire, was gay?

 

“Malfoy, you alrigh’?” Hagrid said, bringing him out of his reverie.

 

“Yes.” Draco cleared his throat. “Yes, Hagrid. I just–I need to find Scorpius. Excuse me.”

 

After exchanging a polite nod, Hagrid entered the Great Hall, leaving Fang behind to lie down and warm up beside a torch-holding baluster. Draco swiftly conjured a piece of parchment, folded it into a paper crane, and charmed it to find his son. As he leaned against the railing of the marble staircase, Draco watched the paper crane fly away, and remembered the last time he had used the same spell for an entirely different reason.

 

The chilly wind brought flecks of snow swirling into the Entrance Hall, and he could almost hear Filch in the back of his head, grumbling and somehow blaming students for the weather. Minutes later, his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps behind him, and Draco turned to see Scorpius coming, probably from the courtyard.

 

His son stood in front of him. His characteristic smile was replaced by a clenched jaw, his chin up, a look of determination in his eyes.

 

“Where's Albus?” Draco felt compelled to ask. According to Scorpius, they were always together while at school, but maybe had thought wise to keep his distance in this moment.

 

“With his Mum,” Scorpius said stiffly, and quickly added, “But he has nothing to do with any if this.”

 

Trying to ignore the sudden tensing of his shoulders, Draco bluntly asked, “So, it’s true?”

 

“Yes,” he answered firmly, squaring his shoulders and continuing before Draco could speak again. “They were saying horrible things, Dad, I wasn't going to just stand there and let those _imbeciles_ bully him.”

 

Despite the foolish way he had picked to solve the problem, Draco still felt a bit of pride swelling in his chest, Hagrid’s words ringing in his ears: _‘Yeh musta done summat righ’.’_

 

“Scorpius–”

 

“No, wait. I know you don't like Mr Potter, but he's a nice man, Dad, really, and Al is my best friend. He would've done the same if you were gay and anyone talked nasty shit abou–”

 

“But I _am,_ Scorp,” Draco interrupted. The words ‘now or never’ had flashed through his mind, and a rush of adrenaline had made the statement spill from his lips almost in a whisper. “I'm gay.”

 

Scorpius had frozen mid-sentence, his expression unreadable. “You–you’re… gay?”

 

A nod was all Draco could give him in response, his heart had crawled up his throat and didn't allow him to form words. Scorpius’ eyes narrowed and his eyebrows furrowed as if in deep concentration, and Draco’s face bristled fiercely under his stare. He knew his walls were crumbling, and had to hide his hands behind his back so his son wouldn't see them fidget.

 

“Did Mum know?”

 

Draco nodded again. He had known questions like this one were going to be asked, and he had long ago made the decision that no matter how hard it most probably would be, he'd do his best to answer them all. After seconds that seemed like hours, Scorpius shook his head and shrugged.

 

“You're still my Dad,” he said at last.

 

Tears threatened to form in Draco’s eyes as he let out a breath of relief he had inadvertently been holding. Scorpius hugged him and murmured, “I love you no matter what, and nothing’s going to change that.”

 

Draco’s efforts to blink away the burning sensation in his lids proved fruitless after that, even though he tried to remain calm. Keeping such a big secret from his son had been one of the heaviest burdens his conscience had carried in his life, so heavy that now it was lifted, he felt his spine relaxing for the first time in years. When they broke apart, Scorpius wiped away the traces of tears from Draco’s cheeks.

 

“It’s okay, Dad.”

 

His sincere smile was like a breath of fresh air to Draco’s lungs.

 

“We…” He cleared his throat and dusted invisible fuzz from Scorpius’ robes, a habit he inherited from Mother when she wanted to change the subject. “We have a lot to talk about, but… Scorp, you know what we have to do now, right?”

 

“Find you a date?”

 

“Scorpius Hyperion!” Draco hissed, looking around to make sure no one other than the suits of armor were listening in, and he nearly scowled when Scorpius let out a laugh.

 

“Alright, alright. I'm just pulling your leg!” He hooked their arms together and they both started walking up the stairs. “Listen, I know I shouldn't have done that, but they deserved it and I don't regret it.”

 

“You know it's against the rules to duel in the halls, Scorpius,” Draco said with a sigh, letting himself be led to McGonagall’s office.

 

“I'll be more careful next time, then,” he continued before murmuring, “I'll obliviate any witnesses.”

 

Draco’s protests and Scorpius’ retorts went on until they were standing in front of the same ugly, stone gargoyle from Draco’s time at Hogwarts. After giving it the needed _‘skiving snackboxes’_ password, it stepped aside to reveal a spiral staircase, which led them to the Headmistress’ office. Muffled voices came from behind the door, and Draco assumed it was from the portraits, but when he rapped on the door and was given permission to enter, he opened it to find Ginevra Weasley sitting in one of the guest chairs. The eye contact they made couldn't have lasted more than a couple of seconds, but it had been enough to give Draco the sensation of being drenched in cold water.

 

“Good evening, Mr Malfoy.” McGonagall was sat behind her desk and Leon stood to her left.

 

“Good evening,” he greeted back, slightly bowing his head before giving way for Scorpius, and stepped inside after him.

 

“I guess we'll be leaving now, Professor,” Ginevra said as she rose to her feet, and only then did Draco notice Albus had been occupying the seat beside her.

 

Despite having done his best to avoid looking at her—locking eyes with Snape’s portrait instead—he still felt her eyes on the back of his head as she left the office. With a hand gesture, McGonagall invited them to take a seat after the door had clicked shut. As Draco took the chair Albus had just left, he noticed the tired look behind her square spectacles, and the deep lines that crinkled around the corners of her eyes and of her pursed lips. But even though time and two wars had taken a toll on her body, her aura of unquestionable authority had remained intact.

 

“Thank you for coming, Mr Malfoy,” she began after they had both sat before her. “I suppose you've already had a word with your son?”

 

“Indeed, Professor.”

 

McGonagall waited, as if expecting Draco to make up excuses to justify Scorpius’ actions, just like his father had done for Draco’s wrongdoings some decades ago. When no such thing occurred, Leon chimed in.

 

“As you can imagine, Mr Malfoy, we were very concerned when young Scorpius, here, refused to tell us why he had attacked his fellow students,” she said, a crease forming between her brows. “Albus–”

 

“Half the school was there, Professor, I–” Scorpius interrupted, but then doubted when all eyes turned to him. He looked down to his hands before murmuring, “Sorry, I just didn't want to draw even more attention to the whole thing with everyone listening in.”

 

“As I was saying,” Leon continued, and Draco was sure she was suppressing a smile. “Albus’ mother had come to speak to us about their current situation before you arrived, and Albus decided to accompany us and tell us what happened this morning. Do you have anything to say, Scorpius?”

 

Draco leaned back on his seat and put his ankle over the opposite knee, waiting and hoping whatever Scorpius said would stick to the values he had tried so hard to teach him. Scorpius took a deep breath and looked up, his gaze switching between the two professors.

 

“I know I shouldn't have hexed those Fifth-years. I saw my friend was upset and I let their words get to me. I was disgusted by what they said.” His tone had been clipped and forceful, but then his posture relaxed and glanced at Draco before continuing. “I don’t think anyone would like to hear someone talking about their parents like that, whatever their preferences might be. But I should have controlled my emotions, and I didn't… and I'm sorry.”

 

A corner of Leon’s lips quirked up, Draco noticed, as she gave Scorpius a measuring look, and then turned over to McGonagall who nodded approvingly as she looked, first at Draco, then at Scorpius.

 

“I applaud your values, young Mr Malfoy, but you still broke one of our most important rules. You will be glad to know, I’m sure, that the students’ heads are finally growing back to their normal sizes, according to Madam Pomfrey’s last report. Professor Leon had considered to give you two weeks of detention, but,” she exchanged a nod with Leon, “we agree that three days of classifying and labeling potions ingredients will suffice.”

 

A somewhat despective _‘pah!’_ came from one of the portraits, but Scorpius let out a sigh of relief nonetheless and nearly slumped on his seat; Potions was his favourite subject, after all.

 

“And as for the students that started all this?” Draco asked.

 

“We do not condone racist nor homophobic behaviour in Hogwarts,” she assured. “Please know that, as soon as Miss Webbden and Mr Unger are out of the infirmary, they will be facing detention and a summons for their parents as well.”

 

With that settled, Draco and Scorpius stood to leave the office. Before he closed the door behind him, Draco couldn't help glancing at Dumbledore’s portrait, and the kind smile the old Headmaster gave him made guilt twist a knot in his guts.

 

“That went pretty well,” Scorpius said as they stepped on the staircase and it spiraled them down.

 

“Yes, but still, that doesn't mean you'll get away with it if you do it again.”

 

Draco gave him an attempt of a severe look, but it was countered by a pout that was ridiculous and cute altogether. As they stepped off the stairs, Draco tried to hold back a laugh as Scorpius kept looking at him with sad crup eyes. They hadn't taken three steps away when a voice called behind them.

 

“Malfoy?”

 

Both Draco and Scorpius turned around to find Ginevra nearby, looking like she'd been chatting with a portrait of a young ballerina dancer. She was wearing warm muggle salopettes and a thick jacket, and the look reminded him of Malfoy family winter trips to France in a happier time. Ginevra walked toward them, and Draco put a hand on Scorpius shoulder—either to stop from fidgeting or to stop himself from running away, he didn't know.

 

“Hello, Scorpius,” she said when she stood in front of them.

 

“Hi, Mrs Pot–erm, I mean…”

 

“Ginny’s fine. ‘Mrs’ has always made me feel older than I really am” She smiled at Scorpius’ shy nod. “I wanted to thank you for defending Albus, he's lucky to have you as a friend. He asked me to tell you he's waiting for you in the Common Room, to discuss whatever was said in both our meetings, I'm sure.”

 

Scorpius seemed reluctant to leave—they still desperately needed a chat—but after agreeing to notify Draco of the date to the next Hogsmeade excursion, Scorpius said his goodbyes to them and took off. Draco and Ginevra—the soon-to-be ex-wife of the man he loved—were left alone in the cold hallway _._ She looked at him, a tight smile on her lips, her hands in the pockets of her heavy jacket, and an unreadable look in her eyes. The tension in the winter air was so thick it could be cut with a _Diffindo,_ and soon, the silence became unbearable.

 

“I–” He cleared his throat. He would be lying if he said he was sorry about the divorce, and he had a feeling she knew. “I'm sorry Albus had to go through this, and I imagine how difficult it must be for his siblings as well.”

 

Ginevra merely nodded, slowly, as if considering what would be an appropriate answer she could give to him. Finally, she let out a sigh before asking, “And how is it going for you?”

 

“Erm.” Draco’s instinct told him there was a trap there and he couldn't quite figure out what it was, but he decided to play naive and have it done with as soon as possible. “Quite alright. I actually have some matters to attend and I assume you, too, are busy, so if you'll excu–”

 

“I know everything, Draco.”

 

Draco never thought he’d hear a Weasley saying his given name without a single hint of rancour in their tone, and that alone had him nearly taking a step back as if he had been slapped. Then the rest of her sentence sunk in, and all heat drained from his body, even with his leather gloves, his hands went numb.

 

“I don't…” he croaked.

 

It was what Father had taught him; deny everything even if they have proof against you. But then Ginevra tilted her head to the side and gave him a sad half-smile that clearly meant _‘don't even try,’_ and he knew he wasn't fooling anyone.

 

“Harry told me before Christmas’ Eve,” she said, cutting straight to the chase, and Draco had to remind himself to breathe.

 

“It wasn't easy after we got married, you know. It took us some time to actually understand each other.” She looked out the window, her eyes dimmed with an emotion that could be nostalgia or ache, Draco didn’t know. “Harry was so full of secrets and unshared stories. There were times where he was present, but his mind wasn't quite there with me, and it always made me suspect there had been someone else in his life. But I decided to ignore it, so did Harry, apparently, and we managed. We were happy.”

 

Draco knew his hands were shaking, he couldn't utter a single word, but Ginevra didn't look like she expected him to.

 

“But you know what, Draco? If you turn your back on truth, sooner or later it'll bite you on the arse.” She looked back to him. “It all made so much sense when he told me about you.”

 

“Ginevra, we never–”

 

“It's Ginny,” she interrupted. “And I know. I'm not blaming you for anything, Draco. I won't deny I _hated_ your guts for a minute, but it was really myself who I was angry at, for remaining willingly blind to what was right in front of me for so long.”

 

Draco opened his mouth to say something, but his brain kept throwing words that didn't truly express what he was feeling; how thankful he was for Ginevra’s… _Ginny’s_ lack of desire to hex him inside out, but also how sorry he was for all the years of uncertainty she had gone through. He didn't have a chance to voice his thoughts, though. Ginny’s already sincere smile grew wider as footsteps behind Draco came to a halt, and he turned around to find Harry some feet away, with crimson Auror robes and hair dishevelled as ever.

 

“I–I got your Patronus, Gin.” His cautious gaze switched from Ginny to Draco. “Everything alright?”

 

“Everything’s perfect. You’re right, Draco, I have a very busy day. Those chocolate biscuits I made aren't going to eat themselves. Perhaps I should send you a batch?” Ginny asked, clearly trying to suppress a grin as she raised her eyebrows and extended a hand.

 

“Yes, that–that'd be wonderful,” he answered, a bit dumbfounded.

 

They shook hands, she gave him a polite nod and a smile, and walked toward Harry. A light squeeze on the arm and a “See you later, Harry,” was all she said before turning around the corner and disappearing from sight. Draco was amazed at his heart's capacity to survive the wild ride of emotions he’d gone through today, but just the sight of Harry had helped the vital organ leave his throat and return to his chest. It was the first time they saw each other in person after that time at his office, and despite having kept communication through owls, it felt like ages had passed.

 

Their feet led them closer, and the need to feel Harry’s body against him was so strong, all thought and precaution was forgotten. Wordlessly, they reached for one another, Draco cupped Harry’s jaw and Harry gripped Draco’s waist in return, and they kissed like their lives depended on it. The soft brush of lips that had happened at Draco’s office was nothing compared to this deep, intense kiss. Years of longing were poured into it, years of unsuccessfully trying to lock down feelings that were too strong to forget. Tears burned against his eyelids for a second time that day, and when they pulled apart, he saw droplets on Harry’s lashes too. Their foreheads touched, their hands entwined, and the whistles of appreciation from a portrait or two were ignored.

 

“You–you told…” Draco whispered.

 

“I did. I'm telling everyone just–” Draco understood Harry was eager to demonstrate he was keeping his word, but just the article and Ginny’s words had been more than he ever expected. “Just wait until the children get around the whole divorce thing and I _promise_ I'll–”

 

 _“Harry.”_ Draco let go of his hands to cup his jaw again. “I know you will. I trust you.”

 

He gave him a soft peck on the lips, and tried to take a step back as he remembered where they were, but Harry held on.

 

“We have a lot talk about,” he murmured against Draco’s lips. “And I'm not going back to the Ministry for the rest of the day.”

 

Warmth spread through Draco’s body, every inch of him tingled as if tiny fairies were tiptoeing on his skin. As they walked to the entrance, three feet apart so as to not rise suspicions— _’for now,’_ Harry had said—and left the castle behind, Draco was brimming with a liveliness his heart hadn't sheltered in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million thank yous to Rachel for the beta and maesterchill (Tumblr) for the britpick on Hagrid's dialogue ♡


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